


lace.

by youlovelythief



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 02:55:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11175522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youlovelythief/pseuds/youlovelythief
Summary: Rukia buys some new clothes.





	lace.

Lace, Rukia thinks, is somewhat scratchy. She’s not exactly sure about the allure of the fabric as she stands in the lingerie store next to Orihime, who is blushing madly as she chats with the sales person.

  
The merchant—Rukia can’t remember the human term for people whose jobs it is to make you spend your money—is a young woman about their age, perhaps twenty-two, twenty-three. She’s quite busty, all soft curves that threaten to spill out over her scoop neckline and glimpses of pale flesh protesting against the waistline of her jeans. Rukia makes the accurate observation that her body type is similar to Orihime’s, and the merchant seems to have had that thought right off the bat, as she daintily plucks a garment from the endless racks of pristine white clothes.

  
“This,” she chirps with a red-lipped smile, “is one of my personal favorites. It’s particularly great for girls like us, Inoue-san—there’s extra wiring beneath the bust to keep your girls up, a slightly thicker corset if you want to suck in a bit more, and it comes with wider garters than most. And—“ She flips it around for Orihime and Rukia to see. “—it comes with this gorgeous bow.”

  
Attached to the bottom of the corset is, indeed, a bow—pure white satin and large enough to cover the whole ass of whomever wore it, its tails wispy thin gossamer, trailing down to approximately mid-thigh length. The effect, while stunning, also reminds Rukia of those anime superhero girls the twins always try to get her to watch on Saturday mornings, making Orihime’s reaction completely expected:

  
“I _love_ it!”

  
Rukia turns to find the bride-to-be no longer blushing because of their whereabouts, but out of excitement. She reaches out one hand to stroke the bow reverently, running her fingers all the way down to the tip of the tail, only to frown when she turns her attention back to the corset.

  
“Oh, I just don’t know about this whole middle part. Do you have something with less, um—buttons?” Orihime asks tentatively. “It’s very beautiful, I’d just like something a bit—“

  
“Easier to get off?” The salesgirl smiles mischievously despite the rush of blood to Orihime’s cheeks and stuttered protests. “Of course, Inoue-san, if you’ll just follow me over here.”

  
Rukia wanders over a few racks as the two disappear behind more strips of sparkling white and silver fabric. It’s not that she’s disinterested—she’d felt incredibly honored when Orihime had asked her to come shopping with her. She’d also felt slightly disappointed that Arisawa-san was abroad for a championship and could not come with them, but mostly Rukia had felt a pique in curiosity—what was this _boudoir_ Orihime needed new clothes for?

  
Without really knowing why, Rukia’s steps take her to the front of the store. While the shop specializes in bridal wear, the front showcases their regular lingerie—scandalous reds and dramatic blacks and mysterious greys all with strategic cutouts, all drenched in lace and bows and silk and gossamer, all of which Rukia stares at in awe.

  
She stops in her tracks beside one of the white bureaus, a black number spread out on top of it. Made entirely from black lace, it is one of the more demure outfits the store had to offer—a simple, halter-neck bodysuit. A little blackboard hanging on the wall above it proclaims it to belong to a category called “teddies.”

  
After glancing to either side, Rukia tentatively places her hand on the drastic neckline, resolving to finally get to the bottom of this “lace” obsession once and for all. There had to be some reason Arisawa-san had specifically told her over the phone, “Make sure Orihime buys something lacey, Rukia-chan. It’ll have Ishida in fits, and she looks drop dead gorgeous in the stuff. Lace, Rukia-chan! Something sexy!”

  
Rukia slips her finger underneath one side of the neckline, which plunges so far down it’s really only a few inches away from the buttons fastened at the crotch. The outside of the teddy is, as she had predicted, rather scratchy, but she is surprised to uncover that the inside was mostly lined with silk. Rukia coasts her hand down the back seam, imagining the way it might slip against her skin, and then one corner of her lips slides down, her eyebrows scrunching together.

  
Lifting the bodysuit up in front of her, Rukia peers at the neckline to discover that there is no silk lining where her breasts would go—she can see through the intricate lace whorls and flowers to the shinier fabric on the back of the teddy.

  
“Kuchiki-san, was it?”

  
Rukia glances over her shoulder to find the sales girl now directing that bird-like, knowing smile at her.

  
“That would look gorgeous on you.” Her brown eyes dart up and down her body almost methodically, and there’s a blush creeping up from underneath Rukia’s scarf as she quickly looks back down at the wispy fabric in her hands. “Slim frame, long legs, are you an A cup, Kuchiki-san? Let me grab that in the right size for you.”

  
Before she knows what she’s doing, Orihime and Rukia are both walking out of the shop with white paper bags dangling off their arms. Both beet red in the face, they dip into a coffeeshop and stuff the bags under their table, looking around to make sure no one had noticed what they had carried in with them.

  
They both sigh over their coffees, look at each other—and immediately burst out laughing.

  
“Kuchiki-chan, I can’t believe—“ Orihime gasps a little and glances over her shoulder, then leans in close to Rukia, who can’t help but do the same. “I can’t believe we just bought _lingerie!”_

  
“I know,” she says, wide-eyed, breathless, hands wrapped tightly around her coffee cup.

  
Orihime reaches out to gently pry her fingers from the mug, holding her hand over the table. “Kuchiki-san, thank you for shopping with me.”

  
“Oh, of course, Inoue. Do you think you’re ready to, ah—“ Rukia blushes herself a bit, before she even says the word. “—to get married?”

  
Orihime lets go of her hand to cup her mug, bringing it to her face. She sighs into the steam rising from her hot chocolate, a slight flush to her cheeks, her grey eyes hazy, her shoulders relaxing. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “I’m definitely ready to marry Uryuu.”

  
Rukia’s heart skips a beat, and she smiles.

 

* * *

  
It’s still scratchy, Rukia thinks, even as she swallows and slips the halter over her head, turning to examine herself in the mirror.

  
Her heartbeat pounds against her ears the longer she looks at herself. She’s never seen herself this way before, never worn clothes like this—tight. Form fitting. Everything she’s ever worn in Soul Society is light and flowing and shapeless, yards and yards of fabric obscuring the small, lean frame she inhabits. Byakuya keeps her closet stocked with as many sundresses as she pleases for her visits to the human world, but Rukia supposes now that she really only wears dresses because they are the closest articles of clothing to her natural shinigami uniform.

  
In the floor-length mirror attached to the back of the door of the Kurosaki family bathroom, Rukia can see just how the lace teddy hugs her body like a second skin. The neckline dives severely down between her breasts to just above her belly button, and the openings for her legs arc high over her hips, making her legs seem longer, her whole body seem taller.

  
She turns half-way around to examine the back of the bodysuit, sees the slight pucker of the lace where it sits over the curve of her butt. The back of the garment does not cover much, as three thin black straps stretch across her lower back, straining against her muscles with each breath she takes. If Rukia had known so much of her butt would be exposed, she would’ve looked for something else, but the sight of so much of her skin, so little concealed _on purpose_ —she’s blushing just looking at herself.

  
Rukia turns to face the mirror again, inhales sharply to steel herself. She balls her change of clothes against her stomach and opens the door, hops five steps silently down the hallway to the next room.

  
Ichigo sits on the very edge of his bed, fists clenched atop his knees, eyes closed.

  
When the door clicks shut, he grins. “Listen, midget, if this ‘surprise’ you’ve got for me is anything Chappy-related, you’re just using me as an excuse to buy another stuffed animal. You ever gonna admit you have a serious problem?”

  
Rukia rolls her eyes as she strides across the room, tossing her clothes in a corner. She stops in front of him, small enough to stand between his knees without touching him.

  
He immediately reaches for her, but she grabs his wrists.

  
“Fool. Open your eyes.”

  
For once, he listens to her—eyes immediately widening, blood rushing into his cheeks.

  
“Oh.”

  
His eyes rake down her entire body, only to slowly climb back up achingly slowly, roving over every detail of the outfit. Rukia’s blush tints the very tips of her ears, wanders down to dust a shade of rosepetal pink across her collarbone, the gap of skin between her breasts.

Ichigo tilts his head slightly to meet her gaze. “You look…” He swallows, licks his lips. “You look good.”

  
Looking down into that dumbfounded, ruddy expression, the tension of the situation diffuses all at once—Rukia snorts and knocks him down onto the bed in one fluid motion. He opens his mouth half-way as she plants her knees on either side of his torso, like he’s about to ask her something, but Rukia dips her lips down to his to shut him up.

  
She kisses him gently, fists resting against his bare chest, her body relaxed against his. She kisses him until he gets it—she doesn’t want to talk right now.

  
When she shifts to pull away, his hands suddenly cup her face, hands coasting against her cheeks and into her hair, and before she knows it, she’s on her back, sinking into his mattress with his spikes of orange hair moving steadily south. Wherever he presses his lips, he leaves a shock of white against her red skin that only lasts a heartbeat, a trail of starbursts down the curve of her neck. She jolts when his fingertip brushes against her nipple, peeking through the gaps between the lace.

  
She arches into him as Ichigo presses the tip of his tongue to her nipple, twirls it ever so carefully in a lopsided rhythm, and Rukia—Rukia finally gets lace. The friction of the fabric between their skin, the warmth of it as it becomes drenched in his saliva—Rukia swallows dryly and whispers his name, bites her lip as soon as it escapes her because she can feel Ichigo’s lips curl into a smile around her nipple.

  
“Hmmmm?” he hums into her skin, flicking his thumb across her other nipple. The scrape of his nail over the lace presses her head into the pillow, squeezes her eyes shut. She repositions herself, the fitted sheet bunching under her as she brings her shoulder blades closer together, pushing her body against him.

  
Sucking dizzingly slowly, Rukia almost doesn’t register the slide of his hand, as he begins to fiddle with a clasp on a strap stretched across her lower back . Through the haze of his touch, she grabs his arm firmly and swallows again before muttering, “No.”

  
He looks up at her, resting his chin between her breasts, eyebrows raised.

  
She screws her mouth up, face burning. “Keep…keep it on.”

  
If Ichigo has ever resembled his Hollow, it would be in the moment that he grins, eyes flashing in the dim light of his bedroom the way they did when they sparred, when he was just about to strike.

  
His hand at her breast slides up to cup her jaw as their mouths collide, the one on her back sinking down to grab her ass cheek. He’s kissing her so roughly, tongue sliding against hers, teeth clicking inside her head, and he’s grinding his hips into hers, the hardness in his boxer briefs pressed firmly against the purposeful slit between her legs.

  
Ichigo pulls back from the heat suddenly, panting, staring at her from mere inches away. “Shit, Rukia,” he says, breathless, gaze roving her face, down her body, lingering where they still touch. His brown eyes flick back up to hers. “When’d you get so fucking _sexy?”_ He slides his hand up her side to cup her breast again, staring at her nipple in something akin to awe as it perks up under his thumb.

  
She stares up at him for a moment, letting herself feel every inch of her body where it meets his. They don’t do this often—between her infrequent visits and the occasions in which they have the house to themselves, this…sort of thing with him, it’s a rare opportunity. It’s what made her buy the lingerie in the first place. It’s the thought that was going through her mind as she watched Orihime undeniably glowing with happiness, so obviously excited to wear her new lingerie. To wear it for her new husband.

  
Maybe, Rukia thinks, she wanted a piece of that happiness. For them.

  
“Hey, idiot,” she says, voice low, as sultry as she can make it.

  
With reflexes honed from sparring with him, Rukia hooks her leg around his and pushes his shoulder down into the mattress, flipping them over towards the window. She straddles over his bare waist, the damp lace between her legs sliding over his sweat, and she grins down at Ichigo as she leans down to him, her small hands gliding up his chest, over his shoulders. She presses her cheek against his, her hair brushing along the side of his jaw as she tilts her lips towards his ear.

  
“You wanna _see_ sexy?”

  
And of all things—he bursts out laughing.

  
Her thighs vibrate with his laugh, reverberating throughout his ribcage, and Rukia tries to remain stoic as best she can, she really wants to at least try to be sexy for him, but she grins into his hair anyway.

  
“God, Rukia, you know—“ He grabs her waist, closes the remaining space between their bodies. She feels her legs depress into the mattress as Ichigo completely relaxes beneath her.

  
“I love you,” he murmurs into her jaw.

  
Rukia pauses at the sound of his confession, his voice breathless, delirious.

  
She has always known that they will never be a normal couple. They might never have the big wedding, the little house on the street, the quiet, contented home they would eventually long for—their lives simply could not guarantee them that. The war is over, the world is turning, and they are still Ichigo and Rukia, human boy and death god. All she can offer him is promise and uncertainty—all she can offer him is this. Her. Here with him.

  
Rukia presses her lips against his temple.

  
“I know.”


End file.
